


back in your head

by virtuosity



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mind Link
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtuosity/pseuds/virtuosity
Summary: If either of them thought that it was strange that they could speak to one another without words, they never really talked about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking at a list of fic tropes and this just sort of happened. 
> 
> I'm still working on it, but I'm putting it at three chapters for now. 
> 
> Let me know if you like it, and if I should keep going! Thanks so much!

_Psst._

Tessa’s head shot up, her eyes scanning the room carefully.

 _Back here_.

She twisted slightly and found a familiar smiling face peeking in through the back window of the classroom.

_What are you doing?_

_Annoying you, what do you think?_

She sighed. _I’m taking a test, Scott._

_I know that. I’m here for moral support._

She rolled her eyes. _No, you aren’t_.

 _No, I’m not._ She saw the sparkle of mirth in his eyes.

“Miss Virtue?”

Tessa’s gaze shot forward, her eyes wide.

“Something interesting outside?” her chemistry teacher Mr. Owens asked, eyebrow raised.

“No! Nothing,” she said quickly, hoping against hope that Scott had thought to duck down behind the window ledge. “Just...distracted. It’s such a pretty day.”

Mr. Owens laughed. “I can understand the allure of a sunny day in February, but try and keep your eyes on your paper, yeah?"

She nodded. “Of course. Sorry.”

She ducked her head, returning her attention to the questions in front of her. _Go. Away._

_You know, you used to be fun, Tutu._

_Yeah, well, everyone has their limits. Shoo._

She felt rather than heard the snicker he gave in response. _Meet you out front after?_

_Yes._

_Okay. Good luck!_

_Thank you_.

She bit her lip against the small smile that threatened to cross her face. It had been awhile since he’d done that, just popped in during the day, to say hi or bother her, just because he could. It was nice.

* * *

It had developed not long after they had started skating together.

The first time was a Thursday, an average day by all accounts; they had met after school, like they always did, preparing intently for that first competition. It lingered there on the horizon, both daunting and exciting, and they felt the first inklings of the competitive fire that would eventually become their life’s blood.

It was a simple thing, really - she tripped. Her skate caught a hole in the ice and she went flying, hands first and she distinctly heard him calling after her, a loud, scared _‘Tessa!’_ She had been fine, her left wrist a little sore from the angle at which she had landed, but nothing to be too concerned about.

Later, when they were driving home, she told her mom that she was surprised that Scott had yelled so loud - he was always chatty, but she’d never heard him yell. Her mother had looked at her, confused, and told her that no, he hadn’t yelled - he had scrabbled after her, panic on his face, but he hadn’t yelled anything. But Tessa knew what she had heard. It had happened. And so she started to wonder.

Over the next few weeks, she tried to see if she could make it happen again. She pretended to fall again, to see if she could draw it out of him, but he always knew she was faking it and would laugh. After day four, she got a talking to for disrupting practice and had to start thinking of another plan of attack. In the end, though, it wasn’t him that needed the push, it was her.

He messed up, at that first competition. He messed up the steps. When they got off the ice, Tessa watched him deflate like a balloon, collapsing to the bench seat, and something like a switch flicked in her.

_It’s okay._

His head jerked up to look at her. She hadn’t said it out loud - but he’d heard it anyway. Their eyes met and they knew.

Then, somewhere in her mind, she heard him, hesitantly… _Is that you?_

She swallowed hard and nodded.

 _Whoa,_ he continued. 

She giggled and he grinned and from that day on it was just how things were. If either of them thought that it was strange that they could speak to one another without words, they never really talked about it. Even when they were kids it just sort of made sense.

* * *

It wasn’t that they could read each other’s minds, not really. They could communicate, and sometimes, if it was strong enough, they could tell how the other felt. When Scott got frustrated or angry, the only way she could describe it was that it felt like her blood would heat up. When Tessa got overwhelmed or anxious, Scott described it to her as feeling like his skin was too tight.

It never really bothered them that the other had that kind of access to what they were feeling - more often than not it helped. She could let him skate it off and take a breath without worrying that he was mad at her, he could reach for her hand and squeeze it reassuringly - all without words. So it wasn’t something they tried to hide from one another.

Well - until they did.

He did it first. That first year in Canton was hard, especially for her. She clung to him and them and this thing that they shared like a lifeline, and he was there, he held up his side, but she started to notice that there were gaps. It wasn’t that she wasn’t getting anything from him at all, it was that she wasn’t getting things when she normally would have. By then she was able to gauge a general mood just from being in his vicinity, but now, much of the time, it was like there was a blankness. Over time she came to realize that it wasn’t an absence of something, it was more like he had put up a wall.

Later it would occur to her that he had done it to protect her, to keep her from feeling worse because he was okay there and she wasn’t, but at the time it felt like she had lost something really important. When she really thought about it, it felt like she had lost a hand; she still had two and they worked fine, but before it was like she’d been lucky enough to have three - she had gotten used to having three - and now she was missing one.

From that point on, she made it her mission to be able to do the same. He didn’t want her to feel what he felt, so she wasn’t going to make him feel what she did. The problem was that she wasn’t as good at it as he was, and it _frustrated_ her. It was like skating. She’d spent their whole career hearing about how Scott was a naturally gifted skater, which he was, and she was too, but she had to work much harder to pick up skills and steps that Scott mastered quickly. It was the same thing with this. She worked hard at keeping her feelings to herself, and she was able to, to a point. But if she was really upset, all bets were off. Like a tidal wave, her feelings would flood through her and into him and that would be that.

She hated it.

* * *

The first time she was able to fully, one hundred percent, bottle something up for her and her alone to deal with was when her legs started to hurt. As the pain got worse, the tighter she locked it down, ensuring that he never caught on. She felt him probing sometimes, nudging her thoughts with his, trying to find out if there was a reason that she would grimace during this lift or wince during that twizzle, but she kept him at bay with a gentle ‘ _just sore’_ or a topic changing taunt of _‘what, are you tired, Moir? I’m just getting started.’_

That one she was able to keep for herself. She spared him that one. For too long, it turned out.

The day she was told she was going to need surgery if she even wanted to have a chance at a career in ice dance, she found herself outside of his house, unable to bring herself to knock. Alma would be happy to see her and would want her to stay for dinner and she couldn’t deal with that right now.

She reached out, her mind seeking his, somewhere on the second story.

_Scott?_

There was a sudden bout of confusion in her mind, almost like the sound of someone you were talking to dropping the phone and then - _Tess? Where are you?_

_Outside._

She saw his curtains pull back and the shadow of him looking down at her. _Come in._

_I can’t see anyone right now. I just…_

_What did the doctor say?_

She swallowed hard. _I need surgery._

 _What?!_ She felt his fear and indignation roll through her mind like thunderclap. _I thought it was just -_

_I know. It’s...more._

_What does that mean?_

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, opening the gate to all of the pain and fear and anger that she had borne on her own for too long. There was a gasp somewhere in the far reaches of her mind and she opened her eyes just in time to see him stumble, his hands grabbing tightly to the window ledge in front of him.

 _Tess..._ came the soft whisper. Maybe it was because he didn’t have to say it out loud, didn’t have to try and truly vocalize it, but the sound of that one word echoed throughout her mind, capturing all the nuances of worry and betrayal and sadness and love that she knew he felt all at once.

She looked up at him and he looked down at her and in that moment any work that they had done to keep those parts of themselves from each other fell away. She felt everything, his feelings flowing over her like water, and for once she let it all go, sharing the pain with him, showing him how even standing there before him was agony and she felt him buckle, ever so slightly, under the weight of it, before he strengthened, his mind rising up beneath hers as though he was carrying her, incorporeal yet solid there within her.

He disappeared from the window and moments later the front door opened. He stepped out onto the porch and held out his hand.

_You don’t have to see anyone else._

She gave a soft nod and made her way up the steps to take his hand. He pulled her gently into the house, not letting go of her hand, as they made their way back to his room. They curled up in his bed, him pulling the comforter up over their head, reminding her that - just like when they were kids - this was their cabin and they were safe there. Nothing bad could happen in the cabin.

They didn’t talk, even mentally; they just nestled into the odd haze of comfort and security that came from the two of them together, minds open and welcoming.  
  
At some point, she fell into a half-sleep, dozing lightly as he nuzzled into her neck and she curled her fingers into his hair. She was never really sure which of them had pushed them over that line into something more. She had a sneaking suspicion that it had been both of them, their minds finding themselves bare to one another after so long, and realizing that in that moment they wanted the same thing.

She lost herself in him, the feel of him around her, inside her - body and mind.  She had always thought that those movies about how all-consuming sex could be, like two people becoming one, were ridiculous. Turned out, they weren’t - as long as you had the ability to share a mind.

Things changed after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she woke, eyes heavy with anesthesia and exhaustion, she really thought he was there. There was a soft warmth that felt distinctly like him - his worry and his relief - coursing through her mind, but as the fog cleared and her eyes focused, she felt a rush of cold chilling her to the bone and then nothing. 
> 
> He was gone. 
> 
> And he didn't come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two! Not feeling as great about this one, but I already have sections of part 3 written and I want to try and get there. 
> 
> **NOTE:** This chapter deals with death and grief as part of Vancouver, so keep that in mind. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

When she woke, eyes heavy with anesthesia and exhaustion, she really thought he was there. There was a soft warmth that felt distinctly like him - his worry and his relief - coursing through her mind, but as the fog cleared and her eyes focused, she felt a rush of cold chilling her to the bone and then nothing.

He was gone.  

And he didn’t come back.   
  
Days passed, then weeks, and each day somehow felt more silent than the last.

She curled up at home, aching everywhere, inside and out, and tried not to think about how before the surgery, lost with him in the sheets of his bed, they’d never been closer and now they were further apart than ever.  

It was at week six, day four, at 1:37 a.m., as her phone beeped with yet another unwanted text, that it became clear to her that she was getting more information from Meryl Davis than the boy with whom she literally shared a mind.

That was the breaking point.  

She closed her eyes tightly and with all of her might she pushed the thought out there, willing it to reach across provinces, borders, states, cities, and every single bit of space between them.

_SCOTT._

She waited.

There was a moment when she thought that she heard something small - like the soft inhale of someone just about to speak. But then nothing. No response. Nothing but silence, just like all the days before.

She didn’t know if it was because she wanted him to hear her or because she knew that he couldn’t, but she unleashed a wild jumble of feelings and thoughts, laced with anger and heartbreak and shock; she filled her mind with every second of pain that she had felt since she had woken in that recovery room and she pushed it out into the air, into the nothingness, out _there_ where it wouldn’t hurt her anymore, but it just might hurt him.

A resounding silence followed her outburst, her ears ringing despite her not having said a word out loud.

Then, as she expected, there was no response. That was when she stopped expecting anything from him at all.

* * *

The first time she saw him was at the rink.  

_Tess?_

It was exactly what she’d been hoping to hear every single day since waking up in the recovery room to the sound of her own heartbeat and nothing else, but now that it had come it was too late. She didn’t answer, didn’t turn to look at him, did nothing but close her eyes and take a slow breath. His hesitancy and uncertainty leached into her thoughts, rough and painful like sandpaper.

_Tess?_

Opening her eyes, she straightened her back and said, “Scott.”

At her verbal response, she felt his mind snap shut.

“That’s it?” he asked. She finally turned to look at him, taking in the sallowness of his skin which was offset by the defiance in his eyes.

“That’s it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

She turned away first, refusing to let him turn his back on her again, and walked away, pace steady and measured.

A low ‘fuck’ followed her; she was never really sure if he thought or said it aloud, but it lingered, echoing against her resolve and her pain and her anger, strengthening it, fortifying it against any and all attacks.

* * *

Really, it was only a matter of time before they had to deal with each other.

Canadian Championships loomed before them, an ominous cloud taunting them from the other side of Christmas, and Marina’s anger at their inability to connect both on and off the ice was becoming palpable.

They didn’t talk.

And they didn’t _talk_ either.

They sniped at each other, aiming for the soft spots they know would hurt the most, and let practice after practice get away from them, the gulf between them growing with every passing moment.

The first time they attempted the Goose once she was back on the ice was the closest he had ever come to dropping her. She didn’t hit the ice, but it was close, and she pretended not to see the haunted look in his eye afterward that suggested something fundamental in his core had been shaken.

A week before Christmas and three weeks before they were back on competitive ice, they found themselves unceremoniously shoved into a room with the directive that they were not to come out until they could - at the very least - look each other in the eye.

As they each collapsed into chairs across from one another, the silence in the room seemed to be rivaled only by the silence in their heads, and she refused to be the one to break it.

But, as it turned out, Scott didn’t share the same stubbornness.

“I heard you that night.”

She looked up at him sharply. “You did?”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “What could I say? Nothing I said would have made it better. And I was so pissed at you.”

“Hold on, _you_ were pissed?” she said, pushing to her feet.

“Of course I was pissed, Tessa! This had just been thrown onto me out of nowhere. I had no idea, no feeling, no _thought_ , of what you were going through. And then all of a sudden our career is hanging in the balance and we….and - and then you’re _gone_.”

“ _I_ was gone? So I misunderstood everything and you were just sitting around waiting for _me_ to call?” she asked.

“You could have, it’s not like you only have a one way phone!”

“I was the one cut open on the table!”

“I know!” he yelled, finally pushing to his feet. “But you’re not the only one in this! This is my life too, and I’m scared too, and I was affected by what happened that night _too_!”

Silence echoed in the room as he kicked at his chair and slumped against the wall.

“I…” she trailed off.

“This isn’t just happening to you, Tessa.”

She looked down at her shoes. He paused, clearly waiting for a response that she didn’t know how to give.

After a moment, he continued, resignedly. “But I fucked up. I know that. And I have to live with that.”

“And now?” she asked, her voice small.

“And now...we either put ourselves back together or…” he trailed off.

“Or we’re done,” she finished. He nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment, both unsure what to say.

Then -

_Hi._

He looked up at her, eyes wide at the voice in his head.

_Hi._

_Talking doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere, so._

_So maybe we don’t talk?_

She nodded slowly. _What do you think?_

She could feel his tentative hopefulness bouncing against her thoughts - and then, echoing lightly across her mind, … _Okay._

He smiled - something closer to a genuine Scott smile than she had seen in far too long - and she felt something loosen within her. Things weren’t okay, but maybe, one day, they would be.  

* * *

Everything was fucked.  

That was the only conclusion she could come to.

This was supposed to be the most exciting event of her life. It was the _Olympics_ . She’d been dreaming about this for as long as she could remember - she should be nervous and galvanized and _ready_ , but all she felt was panic and pain.

Again and again and again her mind spun -

_Fuck_

_Can’t walk can’t stand can’t skate_

_Pain fucking blinding pain_

Scott had done his best, he really had. Every moment since they’d landed in Vancouver he had tried to carry her - physically and mentally - but every inch of her body, mind, and soul was worn down. She was nothing but a wisp of bone-deep weariness with knives on her feet and knives in her shins. He couldn’t carry that all on himself, no matter how hard he tried.

She knew that if her mind was spinning like this then so was his. He tried not to let it show, but she could see it wearing him down, the edges of him fraying slightly.

This was supposed to be the most exciting event of his life too, and in the end, that was worse. She was sad for herself, but she was shattered for him. If only she could go back in time and tell seven year old Tessa to say no when she was asked if she wanted to keep skating with that goofy boy with the sweaty palms who really liked hockey, or maybe give ten year old Tessa a nudge to choose ballet instead - it might have made Scott sad at the time, but it would be worth it to save him from this.

She had no doubt that he would be here with or without her.

* * *

They couldn’t get through a single program, and it was entirely her fault. The compulsory was in less than two hours and she couldn’t stand up. She stared bitterly at her legs, stretched out in front of her where she was seated on the floor, tucked away in a solitary corner of the arena hoping not to be found. If she heard someone say the words ‘Canada’s Sweethearts’ or ‘Canada’s Hope for Gold’ one more time she was going to punch them in the throat. Canada’s not so sweetheart.

_Tess._

She closed her eyes and let her head thunk back into the wall behind her, sighing to herself instead of responding.

_Tess, I know you can hear me. I’m literally in your head._

_I’m here,_ she replied.

_Where’s ‘here’?_

She let her mind retrace the steps she’d taken to get to where she’d hidden herself away, giving him a mental map to follow to find her.

A few minutes later, she heard, softly, from around the corner, “Marco.”

“Polo,” she replied. He made his way to her and slid down beside her on the floor, letting his legs rest close to hers, but not close enough to touch.

“I have an idea,” he said. She turned to look at him curiously.

“What is it?”

“Let’s share it.”  
  
“Share what?”

“The pain,” he said simply.

Immediately she began to shake her head, but he put a hand out and gently grabbed her wrist. “No, listen.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off. “No. Listen.”

When he was satisfied that - for the moment - she wasn’t going to interrupt, he continued, “We’ll share it. It doesn’t need to be all on you, and I can’t take it all on me, but that’s why we have each other right? We’re partners for a reason.”

“But this isn’t your pain, Scott.”

“It is. How many times do I have to tell you this? This is our career and our life and our Olympics, Tess. This is part of it. When you’re hurt, it’s my problem too. You’re always my problem.”

She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

He grinned. “I’m serious though. What do you think?”

“How would we even do that?”

“The same way we transfer our weight when we’re skating. When the pressure comes down on you, shift it to me, when it comes down on me, I will shift it back. It’s like - oh! Remember when you would play ‘Hot Potato’ as a kid?”

She frowned. “What?”

“No okay, hear me out. There doesn’t need to be a point where you hold the hot potato long enough for it to burn. And the same goes for me. It can just flow back and forth between us like...pain water.”

She burst out laughing, causing him to do the same.

“Pain water? Really?”

“Yes,” he insisted with a grin. “Operation Pain Water.”

She scrunched her nose slightly then sighed. “I mean, maybe -”

“Perfect!” he said jumping to his feet. “Let’s try.”

“I didn’t say yes!”

“That’s a technicality. Here.” He put out his hands for her to take so he could help her to her feet and she hesitated.

_It’s okay. Trust me._

The sound in her head echoed with such strength and confidence that she squared her shoulders and let it seep into her. She grabbed his hands and leveraged herself against him to pull herself up, bracing for the sharp, stabbing pain. But - almost like the opening of a window in an overheated room - she felt Scott’s defenses shift, just enough so that, as he had predicted, her pain flowed out of her and into him. It wasn’t a grand swell that rose to collapse down onto him, it was simple, like a wave without a crest. As he pulled, she pushed and between them they balanced out the pain. It wasn’t gone by any account - her legs throbbed and her skin ached, but she stood without worrying that she wasn’t going to be able to stay that way.

Tentatively, she took a step forward and felt the pain shoot up her leg only for it to fizzle to something almost manageable as she let Scott siphon some of it off into himself. Turning to look at him, she said, “Holy shit.”

He looked as breathless as she felt, and smiled at her. “Knew it would work.”

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, nudging herself into the corners of his mind to see if he was hiding his real feelings, taking on more than he was capable of just because he felt like he had to. He let her in, opening his mind to her more fully than he had since before they had moved to Michigan. As hard as she tried she couldn’t find any measure of doubt or resentment or resistance.

He reached for her hands and settled them into a loose dance hold before guiding her backwards into a tentative off-ice version of their tango. It grew more confident with every beat as they found the rhythm of this too, just as they had everything else.

* * *

And then they’d done it.

  
The fear lingered in her stomach as they took the ice. She knew that her smile wasn’t quite reaching her eyes, but as they began and their connection allowed them to pass that terrifying mass of pain and frustration back and forth between them, a dance unto itself, her confidence grew.

Before she knew it, it was over.

They had made it through the entire program and she was still on her feet.

The scores came in and they were in second and it wasn’t first but it _could_ be. She could stand and walk and skate and, with Scott sturdy and solid at her side and in her mind, the panic faded into nervousness, her fear giving way to a hesitant exhilaration.

Maybe. Maybe was enough for now.

* * *

She had walked out the door, limping slightly at the pain Scott wasn’t quite awake enough to take on yet, and frozen at the sight of people waiting for her in the hall. They told her about Joannie’s mom and she felt the earth tilt beneath her. She remembered asking how and why and she _knew_ they had given her answers, if only she could remember them, and then they were entering the room and Tessa was standing in the hallway listening to her friend make the most anguished, animalistic noises she had ever heard, and nothing really made sense anymore.

Suddenly, her mind filled with a scramble of panic and confusion - Scott was definitely awake now.

_Tess what - are you okay what happened - fuck what is that noise holy shit_

She tried, but she couldn’t find the words. Some jumble of indistinguishable sounds echoed through her mind, and she felt Scott’s fear heighten.

_Tessa! Where are you? What happened?_

With a sinking feeling, she realized that he thought she was the one that felt flayed alive, that she was the one making those noises, that she had been the one destroyed in seconds with only a few words. The rising tide of sheer panic that rolled into her mind from him was enough to shake her from her daze.

 _It’s not me,_ she managed to think. _It’s Joannie - it’s her mom._

She felt Scott’s mind find a moment’s peace at her first words, only to fill with dread at the rest.

_What happened?_

_Scott, she died._

A hollowness bloomed from his thoughts and joined hers. _Fuck._

_Yeah._

_I need to call my mom._

_Yeah._

It wasn’t until they joined hands and stepped onto the ice for warm up later that morning that she felt some of the tightness in her chest ease. Everything felt just a little bit wrong, maybe a bit too bright. It was too real - Joannie’s life had changed forever, and Tessa couldn’t help but focus on the fact that all of them were that close to it. It just took one moment.

Nothing could be taken for granted.

_Scott._

_Yeah?_

_I love you._

_I love you too, T._

She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. It didn’t need to be more complicated than that right now; nothing needed to be defined or discussed - he was her best friend and she loved him and she needed him to know. Just in case.

 _Ready?_ he asked.

_Ready._

With that, they took charge of the ice, and of the world around them. They let the anxiety and uncertainty the morning had brought urge them to new heights.

That night, they skated better than they ever had before. They were all too aware that it could be the last time.

And just like that, second became first. They were so close.

* * *

As they made their way around the rink, strokes steady and synchronous, she made sure to look only at him. He was _talking_ to her, she knew that he was, could feel him in her mind, but the noise of the crowd echoed so loudly in the arena that it overtook even the sounds in their heads.

She began talking aloud, knowing there was no way that he would be able to hear her, but she was confident that - at the very least - he could read her lips.

Words of reassurance, support, and love flowed between them, and as their names resounded through the air, their arms went up, and then he was there, in her space, forehead pressed gently against hers. She knew that people likely thought it was part of the act or evidence that they were together the way everyone seemed to hope they were, but she knew better.

As their foreheads touched, she felt a synthesis, unlike any connection that they had ever had before - even that one night in his bed.

It was as though she could feel him in her bones. They didn’t need to share the pain anymore - it hummed in the background like an itch they couldn’t reach but wasn’t strong enough to irritate.

She felt weightless, her body moving with a grace that she never expected to have; he was beside her, behind her, before her, their connection ebbing and flowing as they moved across the ice, but never breaking.  

Edges, twizzles, lifts, together.

 _Together._ His words in her mind, matching hers in his.

The closer they got to the end, the more she felt his excitement and anticipation grow. Knowing Scott as well as she did, she took a deep breath and sought to temper it - she was nothing if not the temperance to Scott’s intensity - but she felt him slip, just a little, turning her the wrong way as they slid into their ending pose. She let go, let him take her with him. It was the smallest of mistakes, and it meant nothing - they had done it.

Panting, they rested their heads against one another, the joy and exhilaration bouncing between them like jolts of electricity. “Thank you so much.” She heard the words, but more than that she felt them as they coursed through her. He was making sure she knew that he wasn’t going to take her for granted, not this time. He knew her pain intimately, knew exactly what it took to get her to this moment, and he was grateful. Every part of him was grateful.

The wounds on her legs had healed a long time ago, but it wasn’t until that moment that she truly felt the others, the invisible ones, the ones in her heart and her mind, heal.

It was blur after that. She was wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, he was launching himself across the boards like a child, there were scores being read aloud and for some reason numbers just didn’t make sense anymore - 104? 110? 221? - but then she felt Scott surge up beside her and she knew. Her mind was a scrambled mix of his pride and her shock and all she could say as he held her tightly against him was -

“I think we just won the Olympics.”

And he answered -

_Yeah we fucking did._

* * *

Not long after, he tried to take it back. He told her they were second, but his mind didn’t match his words - and then he laughed at her.

 _You’re such an asshole,_ she told him as he wrapped her up in his arms, his laughter tickling her mind until she was laughing with him.

_Golden asshole._

_That's gross, Scott._  


End file.
